There Goes My Hero
by TakeAnotherBow
Summary: When Peter isn't out looking for trouble, trouble finds him regardless, this time, in the shape of a gunman that's not above taking hostages. But Spider-man isn't the only vigilante in New York City. - A *different* take on how Frank Castle and Peter Parker meet.
**ATTENTION: This version of Spider-man is supposed to be the one we're getting in Civil War. However, it is worth noting that at the moment of writing and publishing of this fanfiction, the movie is not yet in cinemas, and therefore this characterization of said character might prove to be inaccurate. Please keep that in mind if you're reading after having seen the movie.
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Peter has always liked spending time with his aunt, and a tiny little spider-bite did not change that. Conversely, aunt May also loved spending time with her nephew, who had grown slightly more distant over the course of the past few months. She did not know what caused this, but she was worried for him, justly so. Vigilante justice was at an all-time high in New York, a sort of natural reaction to the changes in the world which it inhabited. Have the streets become safer or more dangerous with these vigilantes around, or in fact, the opposite? She wasn't sure, but she worried still for the last person in her life she loved wholeheartedly.

Spending time with him also meant time spent keeping an eye on him, knowing what was going on with him outside of school and outside of the walls of their home.

They rarely ate out, and May thought it was time for one of those special occasions when they did. By sundown, the two of them were finishing their dinner. They had a table by the window, next to the entrance.

'This was nice, Aunt May,' Peter said as they waited for the cheque, bellies full. 'We should do this more often.'

'You mean like bi-monthly?' Aunt May teased. Peter grinned at that, a grin so infectious, May couldn't help but smile at her own joke, too. But then the grin disappeared from her nephew's face, replaced by confusion at first, then horror. She was about to turn around when he called her name and jumped from his seat, pulling her from her chair and onto the ground with him.

She then heard gunshots and looked up to see three gunmen enter the small restaurant space, pointing their weapons at the innocent customers inside. Peter was by her side, arm wrapped around her protectively. She held onto him just as strongly, him, the single most important person in her life.

The gunmen seemed to be nervous and afraid, which possibly made them even more dangerous than if they weren't.

'Grab someone!' One of them yelled over the sound of frightened gasps and panicked screams. 'Whoever's closest to you, just d-'

A bullet shattered the glass window above May and Peter, burying itself in the neck of the speaker. More screams filled the restaurant as the man hit the ground. One gunman returned fire blindly, while the other, who was closest to the window, grabbed the first person he could.

'Peter!' Aunt May screamed as her nephew was pried away from her, horrified. The man had the barrel of his gun pressed against Peter's side, his arm tight around his neck as he backed away towards the kitchen of the restaurant. His partner in crime kept firing, but apparently not hitting his mark, until he too slumped to the ground, lifelessly. That was that last thing Peter saw before he was pulled into the kitchen by the gunman, who still had the mouth of his gun jammed into the Peter's side.

'Stop strugglin', boy,' the man rasped. They were at the kitchen's exit when a dark figure appeared across the room, gun aimed at them, or more likely, at the gunman. But he couldn't get a clear shot of Peter's captor, who slipped away from the door, dragging Peter with him. Once they were outside, the man pulled his gun away from Peter's side and raised it to aim at their pursuer, keeping Peter in front of him like a shield. But this time, Peter wasn't so helpless. As the dark-clad figure appeared from the doorway, he kicked at his captor's gun, sending it flying across the alley.

'Why you little-'the man grumbled, and positioned himself to be even more covered by Peter's significantly smaller form. Only his forearm remained exposed, wrapped around Peter's neck way too tightly. Peter struggled for breath as he tried to pry the man's arm away. The arm only budged a little and for a short time before the hold became even tighter, almost crushing his windpipes. Then, before he could faint, the grip loosened. The man needed him awake and moving is he wanted to get away. Between gasps, Peter realised that he was being dragged through the street, and his captor also managed to get his gun back, which he was firing at their follower, the black-clad man. This forced the man in black to pull into cover, but soon he was back on their trail. When his captor raised his gun again, he tightened his grip around Peter's neck, as if warning him not to try a stunt like the earlier again.

They turned into a large alley, empty of pedestrians. With a corner between them and their chaser, the man quickened his pace, effectively lifting Peter from the ground as he put more distance between himself and the man in black. Then, he turned around, once again pulling Peter before him, shoving his gun into his side.

'Stop right there or I'll shoot him!' he yelled.

The man in black stopped in his track, weapon still raised. Peter yelped out in pain as the gun at his side was jammed forcefully against him, no doubt leaving behind an angry mark.

'Put down your weapon!' His captor ordered. Slowly, the man in black raised his hands, then lowered his gun to the ground. 'Good. Now kick it here.' To remind him of his authority, Peter's captor once again jammed at his side. Peter hissed out in pain, and the gun skid across the ground to stop at his feet. The captor crouched down, pulling Peter with him. 'Pick it up, boy,' he hear him say. 'Don't try anything funny, or else…'

Peter reached out and picked the gun up in such a way that he wouldn't be able to even accidentally shoot with it. The man had him hold onto it as he backed further away, towards the mouth of the alley.

'Don't even _think_ about following me,' he said to the other man, then rounded the corner. He kept Peter close as he continued backing away, until he was satisfied that nobody was following.

He dragged Peter with him for a while longer, faster now that he wasn't backing up. When he judged it to be far enough away from any potential pursuers, he loosened his grip on Peter, removing the gun from his side.

That was a mistake.

Peter threw the gun already in his hands away and jumped on the one in his captor's hands, ripping it away from the man. The man grabbed furiously at the boy's shirt, but once again he threw the gun away before he could get his hands on it. The man wrapped his arms around Peter's arms and torso, lifting him from the ground in a vice-like grip. Peter flailed out with his legs, bringing the heel of his shoes down over and over again on the man's legs, who was having trouble keeping his grip on the wriggling boy. He pulled Peter down into a controlled fall, effectively slamming him into the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs. But Peter recovered quickly, jumping up from the ground. Now both of them were standing, but this time, there was distance between them. Peter knew he could win, even in his slightly battered state, and without his web-shooters.

His spider sense warned him of the incoming punch long before his eyes could, and he moved out of its way, instead landing his own punch on the man's jaw. Shocked by the unexpected strength of Peter's strike, the man stumbled backwards. Peter launched into the air, spin-kicking the man in the head. The man hit the ground hard, not likely to get up anytime soon.

That was when he noticed the black-clad figure standing just a short distance away. Peter froze. How much of the fight did the man see? Was this enough for him to figure out his secret? Did he even care?

The two of them just stood there for a while, staring at each other. Peter noted the several bruises that littered the man's face, his broken nose, calm, dark eyes, short hair, big, black coat and the weirdest of it all: the white skull painted on his vest.

He was The Punisher!

Peter's eyes widened as he once again looked up into the man's eyes. He was a dangerous person, the kind of vigilante that elected to be judge, jury _and_ executioner. Peter heard he killed over thirty or forty people in cold blood, still counting. But there was no madness in his eyes.

'I…' Peter managed to say, and realising how dry his throat was, he swallowed before continuing. 'I need to get back to… to my aunt…'

The Punisher nodded slowly, and Peter was about to step away when his spider sense went off. He spun around to see the man from before picking up one of the discarded guns and pointing them at him.

Peter managed to dodge most of the bullets with an athletic flip, but the gun was an automatic, and it was firing too many bullets at once. One grazed his arm, while another hit him in the shoulder. Peter screamed as he hit the ground, gripping at his bleeding shoulder. The fire was redirected at The Punisher, who produced a handgun seemingly out of nowhere. Two bullets from the automatic hit what was no doubt a bulletproof vest before he shot his own gun and the man dropped dead on the ground.

Peter found that not only did it hurt to move, but it hurt to breathe. He whimpered in pain, eyes squeezed tightly together. Then, he felt fingers prying his hand from his shoulder, pressing soft material in its place. Peter gasped at the pressure and opened his eyes to look up at The Punisher.

The man gave him a reassuring smirk. When he spoke, his voice was deep and raspy.

'Hang in there, kid,' he said. 'You're doing great. You're gonna be ok.'

Peter hissed and closed his eyes again. He realized he was gripping The Punisher's wrist with his good hand as if his life depended on it.

'You've got a strong grip, kid,' The Punisher said, sounding amused. 'Got a name?'

'P-… Peter,' he managed to say.

'Peter,' The Punisher echoed. 'You were with your aunt, then?'

Peter nodded.

'I'm gonna get you back to her, alright?' The Punisher said. 'I'll treat your wound and I'll take you home, ok, kid? Where do you live?'

Peter struggled to recite the address to the vigilante, not caring if it was a good idea or not to share it with a murderous vigilante.

'Ok,' The Punisher said. Peter must have let go of his wrist somewhere along the way, because now The Punisher grabbed his hand and held it against the soaked-through material at his shoulder. 'Keep pressure on it,' he instructed, and picked him up from the ground.

He carried him across abandoned streets for what seemed like half an hour, checking every few minutes if he was awake.

'We're here,' he said, finally, laying Peter down on a soft bed. Peter heard rustling, and soon, a first-aid kit was placed on the nightstand next to him. The Punisher opened it and started preparing for the treatment of his wounds. 'I'm Frank.'

'Pleased to meet you, Frank,' Peter muttered, sarcastically, only half aware of himself. Frank chuckled at that.

'You're a special kid, Peter,' he said, and cut away Peter's shirt at the shoulder. 'It was quite a feat, what you pulled.' He sprayed something on the gunshot wound. It was an unpleasant feeling at best. Peter groaned. 'You'll be alright, kid.'

His voice was oddly smoothing as he talked to him, distracting him partly from the pain of removing the bullet from his shoulder and stitching the wound up. Then, he cleaned the blood away and bandaged his grazed arm and his shoulder. By the time he was done, Peter was asleep.

The skin around May's eyes was irritated red, shining with wetness. She barely stopped crying since the shooter took Peter away, after which she spent hours in a police station, asking around helplessly until an officer insisted she went home. She agreed once he promised her that _when_ they found Peter, she'd be the first to know.

But she couldn't sleep. It was well past midnight, the hours dragging her closer to dawn. All the lights were off, save for the one at the front door. She knew it wasn't likely that, after all this time, her nephew would just show up like nothing happened, but she wanted it to happen. She didn't want a call from the police, she didn't want to fill in a report, and she didn't want to recount it all to a police officer. She just wanted her nephew back.

The doorbell rang. May was at the door in an instant, ripping it open without even checking to see who it was, against her better judgement.

'Peter!' She called. She ignored the tall, dark man that held him, and the dangerous, familiar look to him. No, for that moment, all she saw was Peter, and she cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cheek. He was asleep or unconscious, but he looked peaceful. He was wearing a black, oversized jacket.

She finally looked up at the man holding him.

'Come in,' she said, swiftly, leading him inside and up to Peter's room. The man's heavy footsteps reverberated loudly in the otherwise quiet little house, disrupting its peacefulness. He placed Peter gently on his bed. May sat down on the edge of the bed, gesturing for him to sit on the chair by Peter's desk. He pulled it out, closer to the bed and sat.

May was caressing her nephew's face, tears of joy trickling down her face.

'Thank you,' she whispered, looking up at the man on the chair. 'Thank you, Mr…?'

'Frank,' the man said. 'Just Frank, ma'am.'

May nodded, and her expression became from one of relief to one of gravity.

'I saw you, Frank,' she said, quietly. 'You were the man that chased after him. What happened after that?'

Frank hesitated for a moment, looking to Peter, considering what way to best describe the events that unfolded just a few hours ago.

'I chased them for a while,' he said at last. 'The shooter, he used him as a human shield. I wasn't going to take any chances, but I followed him.' May nodded in understanding as Frank paused. 'When he put more distance between me and himself, he forced me to put my gun down and threatened to shoot Peter if I dared to follow him any further.

'I waited for the distance to grow between us, then went after him, knowing that he would let Peter go after a while. When I caught up to him, the guns were on the ground, and the man was on the ground. It seemed Peter had managed to knock him out.'

Frank paused again, looking unsure how to continue. May frowned, looked at Peter and then back up at the man.

'What then?' She asked, worried.

'When Peter wasn't looking, the man… he picked up a gun and…'

'Oh no,' May whispered. At first, she thought the man gave Peter the jacket against the cold, but now, she suspected it wasn't the only reason. She zipped it open and gasped. Peter's own shirt was stained with blood, cut at the shoulder, showing white bandage that spread down to his upper arm. 'Oh Peter,' she sobbed, leaning over him to kiss his forehead.

'I patched him up. It's clean and everything,' Frank said, sounding slightly out of his element. 'It's cheaper than going to the hospital, and just as effective. Believe me, I know how to treat a bullet-wound,' he explained, trying to sound reassuring instead of scary. Because he _was_ scary.

But Aunt May didn't seem to mind. She didn't care how big and scary and dark the man that saved her Peter's life and brought him back to her was. She only cared that he did.

'Thank you,' she whispered. 'I don't know how to ever repay you…'

Frank waved a hand dismissively.

'There's no need for that, ma'am,' he said, and stood up. 'I have to go now, but I will check up on him.'

May nodded.

'Goodbye,' she said. Frank was about to turn around when Peter stirred awake.

'Aunt May?' he muttered, barely audibly. 'Frank?'

May cupped his face in excitement.

'Peter!' she yelped, closing the gap between her forehead and his. 'I was so worried!'

'I'm ok, Aunt May,' Peter whispered as May pulled back, cupping his face with her hands. He looked up at Frank with an expectant look.

'Kid,' Frank said simply, smirking. 'I'll come back to take a look at that later,' he told May, gesturing at Peter's shoulder. He took a few steps towards the door, and May got up to show him out. 'See you later, kid,' Frank said, before he disappeared from Peter's view. Peter sighed and stared at his ceiling. He knew he would heal faster than a regular person, but even so, it might be over a week before he's out swinging again. _Don't flatter yourself, Parker_ , he thought, _the city's well-being doesn't hinge on you alone._ With that in mind, he was able to slip into a peaceful slumber, just before Aunt May returned to his room to sit by him for the rest of the night.

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 **So that was my weird little take on the idea of these two meeting. If you're interesting in more, do not hesitate to tell me so in the reviews!**


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